Gathered Together--Community Contemplative Practice

 

Jesus would also die so that God’s children scattered everywhere would be gathered together as one.                                                                                       John 11:52

Reading through the gospel of John for Lent, this verse came in today’s reading. As I read it, what came to mind was the centering prayer time that Pastor Wil is leading each week during Lent. I could see our small circle, practicing centering prayer in community.

There is something special to me about gathering together in person to practice centering prayer or lectio divina or to walk a labyrinth. These are all contemplative practices that can be done alone, but there is something powerful and compelling about being contemplative with others. It’s a completely different experience!

It makes me wonder if John, the mystical gospel writer, was looking to a day when our action in the world would flow from our gathering together as one in contemplation. Practicing silence in community invites the Spirit to speak in ways we may not hear otherwise. Collective silence can draw together scattered minds.

I know I am grateful that my church is offering opportunities this Lent to do contemplative practices in community. It is shaping my Lenten journey in meaningful ways. Gathering together with others to reflect on scripture in silence or to do a twenty-minute sit is countercultural, pushing back at our society’s demand that we must always be doing something. The good news of Jesus tells us that our worth is not tied to our ability to produce. Contemplative practices invite us to live as if we believe that to be true!

God as Disrupter

As we approach Christmas in the midst of a pandemic, I have found it helpful to reflect on the events leading up to the first Christmas, which was chock-full of disruptive events. In this video post, I consider Mary and Joseph, and just how much their lives were disrupted by God's choosing of them to be the parents of Jesus.

Circles

I live my life in widening circles

that reach out across the world.

I may not complete this last one

but I give myself to it.

                                                --Rainer Maria Rilke

We do live our lives in circles. The temptation is to think that our lives are linear, but like a drop that falls into a pond and radiates outward, our lives radiate outward around us. We have a circle of influence, be it large or small.

Whether our circle is widening largely depends on the openness of our heart. I know people whose generosity and openness draws people to them. Such people are a joy to be around. They radiate love to others and though they may not even be aware of it, their circle is wide because their hearts are wide. They believe in goodness and see it present around them. As they age, their lives and hearts grow more expansive. Their humility and wisdom keeps fearfulness far from them. They have nothing to prove, protect or defend, so they can love freely, without worrying about what is “right” or “wrong.”

I also know people who live life close to the vest, not exposing themselves to risk, not revealing their vulnerabilities, not trusting the goodness of others. These people do not live in widening circles. On the contrary, their circle is small and grows smaller over time. They do not readily invite people in because they are unwilling to relinquish control and are unwilling to admit or expose their vulnerabilities. They are worried about what others think of them and concerned with presenting a particular image to the world. They may know a lot, but they do not grow wise because ego, not humility, is the driving force in their lives.

The irony is that those who seek to be people of influence are not as influential as those whose energy is focused on loving others. What we attempt to gain by force seldom works out the way we want it to. Grace and love cannot be forced. Yet when they flow freely through a person, there is no stronger attractant.

Our world needs people of humility, grace and openness. These traits are cultivated over a lifetime as we relinquish the need for control and give ourselves to love. Silence and solitude are the soil in which grace and openness grow. A daily practice of centering prayer can open one’s heart more fully over time.

Will you begin to practice a regular, daily time of silence? More than anything else, it may be what saves our world.

God's Abundance

“We have nothing here except five loaves of bread and two fish.” –Matthew 14:17

 We have nothing here except. . . All day long Jesus has been with this large group of people. Their emotions ay have been mixed, as those of Jesus likely were. The news of John’s death at the command of Herod likely created an atmosphere of fear, heaviness and loss.

Into that scene Jesus proposes a shared meal. Symbolism and sustenance meet in this event. There is enough food for everyone, literally, as abundant leftovers are collected. God is not a God of fear, scarcity and small-mindedness.

Jesus had been healing the sick, but I expect the meal healed the fear of many present that day. Yes, John was dead, but God is not. God is in community, in bread and fish shared among all—disciples, questioners, the sick, children, women, men—no one turned away. God is a God of abundance, hospitality and community—found in the most ordinary of places, people and food.

There is always enough, plenty, more than enough. No need for fear, jealousy or greed. God’s economy is for all and in abundance. God’s work is larger than we can see or know.

Birthday Reflections

I celebrated my birthday this week and I certainly know I have much to celebrate. I am living in a place of fullness, joy and peace that I could have never imagined for myself. Some people use the expression “living the dream” sarcastically, but I use it with sincerity. Friends of mine have heard me say that truly, I am living my dream. I am grateful for the way my life has unfolded to bring me to this place of deep gladness.

Frederick Buechner says this: The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet. When I first heard this quote, I was in a season of discernment about what I sensed as a call for my life. Following that call took me from what felt comfortable and predictable and set me on a journey that defied any effort at making a five year plan. Even if I had made such a plan, the events that unfolded along the way were ones I could have never predicted.

Fullness of life doesn’t mean rainbows and unicorns. I went through the hardest season of my life thus far in the years between following this call and now. In fact, there were days dark enough and circumstances unsettling enough that I questioned my worth and my call. But God’s love was manifested to me in the love, companionship and encouragement of friends. I likewise realized that the consistent practice of centering prayer and lectio divina had led to a sense of God’s presence that sustained me. I was grateful that I never felt abandoned by God, even when I questioned everything else about my life.

As I reflect on life at the conclusion of another trip around the sun, I can’t think of anything I’d wish for if I had birthday candles to blow out. I am grateful for each moment. I am grateful for my friends. I am grateful for the communities to which I belong. And yes, I am grateful, supremely grateful, for the season of struggle, the pain and the people whose words and actions hurt me. Without them, I would not be where I am today. I would not have learned and lived the truth of death and resurrection in such a palpable way.

So I celebrate that I have been born and that I have been reborn. Life is good. Thanks be to God!

Thoughts on Community

Community is a matter of the heart and the mind. It cannot be created by place alone, and it cannot be destroyed by distance alone. It is the essence of the soul.    –Joan Chittister

If you read my musings often, you will know the value I place on community. Community has sustained me when life has been incredibly hard. I do not take for granted the gift of community and am grateful for the communities to which I belong.

Sister Joan’s observation about community arises, at least in some part, from her own experience living in a monastery as a Benedictine Sister. But hopefully most of us can identify with her observation from our own experiences of community. As she notes, simply living under the same roof does not create community. Nor does being part of a particular group.

Community is not the same as a collection of individuals. There is a quality of soul that true community shares. One can be terribly lonely in a group when there is no soul connection, when there is no one interested in listening to what it is that makes your soul sing. In fact, one of the signs of verbal abuse in a marriage is that the abuser trivializes what is important to the other by being disinterested or dismissive. Proximity does not necessarily create community.

On the other hand, distance does not quash community that is rooted in genuine care for one another. You may have friends you do not see often, but when you do, it is as if no time has passed. You pick up where you left off. When you have such connections, you can be alone and yet not be lonely, for the soul connection is palpable.

If the soul’s essence is to be in community, then it matters that we build relationships that are deep and mutually life-giving, relationships that help you discover your true self, that do not silence your true voice. If we squelch our truth to try to fit into someone else’s idea of who we should be, we will not find peace in our souls.

True community feeds our souls and reveals to us the commonwealth of God.

The Gift of Communities

I haven’t blogged in a while. I’ve been out of town a lot recently. Being gone, especially the three weeks I was in North Carolina for yoga teacher training, has reminded me how much communities nourish and sustain me. I missed my people. I was grateful for texts from friends offering encouragement and letting me know I was missed. When I was fatigued at day’s end, these messages mattered to me.

It matters that we are part of a community, or of several communities. Studies show that being an active part of a community, be it religious organization or the people you regularly exercise with, enhances our health. It truly does take a village, not only to raise children but to maintain our sense of well-being.

What I likewise noticed was how my fellow teacher trainees became a community over the three weeks we spent together. We were quite a diverse group—different ages, different beliefs and values, and from different places. Yet, to my knowledge, no one let their differences get in the way of hospitality to or compassion for one another. We were there for a common purpose and that transcended the differences among us.

In a culture that values individuality, where your individual preferences are catered to by restaurants and retailers, it is sometimes easy to forget the value of community. The divisiveness we see in our country today shows me that we value our individual preferences over community. Fear of “the other” leads to isolation, and there is nothing nurturing or sustaining about isolation.

Joy cannot exist in an environment of isolation, because we need one another in order to share joy. And times of sorrow are better borne among community. We grow by exposure to more than what we already know. If communities exist only to close off others, to promote homogenous thinking, they are unhealthy communities to belong to. The common ground of such communities is fear, and fear cannot coexist with joy. Fear never nourishes us. Opening ourselves to different ideas and people is what makes community rich and healthy.

I am grateful for all my communities. They are diverse, yet they are all filled with hospitality and love. As I wrote on a recent Instagram post, home is where you give and receive love. And love, especially love given and received in community, is necessary for us to flourish.

Gifts

This has been and continues to be a meaningful Advent season for me, but not in the way I have experienced it in previous years. In the past, I have found meaning in different Advent devotional books, which I’ve read in the early morning darkness each day. And while I’ve read Advent devotions this year, the meaningfulness of this Advent has been found in relationships.

Reflecting over Advent thus far, what shimmers forth for me are the experiences of laughter, hugs, meals shared, worship, work done together with gladness and conversations that help me to know others better, that open doors to deeper connections. These have been for me the gifts of Advent for me this year. I am grateful for each of these experiences, which represent God’s lavish gift of love and koinonia.

What I’ve received so richly cannot be contained in a box, cannot be tied up with ribbon, cannot fit under the largest tree. The gift of relationships that incarnate God’s love is what I treasure this season.

Life as Liturgy

Last week was anything but routine in my community. Hurricane Irma, which was Tropical Storm Irma by the time it arrived here, blew through on Monday and disrupted pretty much everything for the rest of the week. Lack of electricity, storm damage to homes, businesses shuttered because of no power, schools out for the entire week—and the story was not unique to our city. Our church housed 100 law enforcement personnel who were sent to assist, so going to work (thankfully the church never lost power) was a reminder that the order of the week was not business as usual.

Almost all our weekday events were cancelled because facilities were used to house and feed our guests. The one thing that stayed on the calendar was our weekly Taize service. I was grateful for that anchor because the activities of the week that help orient me to God through prayer and fellowship with my faith family were on an Irma hiatus.

It reminded me how much I crave order and consistency, and how much life anchored by these occasions of prayer and fellowship is an act of liturgy for me. The various gatherings for prayer, study and meals connect me to God and to my faith community.

Liturgy means “the work of the people” and that work occurred by means other than our usual activities. Our church did much of its “liturgy” last week in the kitchen, preparing three meals a day for the men and women who were making us their home base for most of the week. It was inspiring to see the hospitality offered and the dedication and abundance of volunteers.

I was also reminded that God breaks into routine and offers us the opportunity to wake up from the lethargy that can happen when our lives get so systematic that we go through them on autopilot. In the midst of the dis-order of the week, I had a couple of occasions of God showing up in unlikely ways and places. That I could recognize these for what they were I attribute to the regular rhythm of prayer that forms my own personal liturgical practice.

There are those who discount liturgy, seeing it as old and stiff, but I think a liturgical life gives us a framework that grounds us so that we recognize the Spirit where we might not otherwise. Just as a building needs good framing, a life of faith needs practices that provide order and rhythm, but with space for the Spirit to move through and awareness to recognize the Spirit’s movements. 

What are the practices, the routines that provide the framework for your life, that form your own liturgy? 

Community

Needing community

the Spirit interceded,

bringing me to

where I am seen for

who I am,

I put down roots and bear fruit in this

place of welcome,

receiving.

Community’s gift—being seen,

being known,

being accepted—

being a part

rather than

being apart.

Forty

Forty. It’s one of those biblical numbers. Forty years of wilderness wandering led by Moses. Forty days Jesus spent in the wilderness. Forty days from Jesus’ resurrection until his ascension. And others.

This forty wasn’t biblical, though. It was a forty I could hardly believe. Forty years since I graduated high school. At first, I thought the math was wrong. Surely we were getting ahead of ourselves! But then I did my own math and realized that it was really true that I graduated forty years ago, class of ’77.

I almost didn’t go to the reunion. I hadn’t seen anyone from my graduating class since our 20 year reunion, except for one classmate that I ran into at a book signing several years ago. I was friends with just a few on Facebook, but since I no longer live in my hometown, and had not attended one of the feeder elementary schools for my high school (which deepened relationships among many of my classmates) I was ambivalent about attending. Plus, I’d come out of the hardest couple of years in my life just a few months earlier. I wasn’t sure I was up to the conversation in such a large group that I hadn’t connected with in so very many years.

But I went. And I’m glad that I did. One of the unexpected gifts of the wilderness journey I went through and have come out of has been reflecting on who I am and where I’ve come from. Not necessarily where I geographically came from, but a looking back at my life, and deeply looking within, both with the aim of helping me to know myself more fully, and at the same time, know God more fully and how God has been present with me in the various seasons of my life. I’ve learned a lot, though there is still much more to learn.

I learned a little more this past weekend as I joined some of my classmates for the reunion. I was reminded of how our group shares a common geography. We all lived in a not too big area of East Point, Georgia. We were solidly middle class, for the most part. No country club memberships, no cotillion, no multi-week summer camps (at least I wasn’t aware of any of these among my classmates). I’m not criticizing any of these, and my children were the beneficiaries of some of these in the city I live in now, but it was not a part of my growing up years, nor that of the classmates I spent the most time with.

Maybe because of what we shared, I felt a bond with those who gathered, even the ones I had not been close to in high school, even the ones I didn’t get a chance to talk to at the reunion. As I drove the hour-plus drive home afterward, I reflected on my history. I’ll do more of that over the coming days and weeks. And I won’t let twenty years pass before I reconnect with the classmate-community that shaped my teenage years and influenced my life in many ways.

One of the elements missing from most of my adult life was that connection to high school and college friends. When I journeyed a difficult path I came to a greater appreciation of my friends. Friends were my lifeline when life’s circumstances seemed overwhelming. Gathering with my classmates, celebrating where we came from and where we are now, I know my web of relationships has grown. I look forward to deepening the friendships I renewed this weekend. I certainly claim the truth of Proverbs 18:24: There are persons for companionship, but then there are friends who are more loyal than family.

Freedom

I am becoming,

uncurling like a fern frond.

It isn’t easy to become

who you were created to be.

Rocks get in the way and you have

to be patient until something

(or someone) moves them

or until you become sure enough

of your destiny that you have the

strength to push them aside

or maybe both happen at once.

But then, ah then,

you stretch out your leaves—

free!

Our Inherent Interconnectedness

Sometimes life lessons come from the simplest items. Recently for me, it was an apple core. Let me explain.

On Wednesdays, I bring my lunch to work. The schedule for that day makes it difficult to go out for lunch and we have a wonderful courtyard with tables and chairs, flowers, and abundant shade. I enjoy being outside anyway, so it’s always a pleasant break in the day.

Last Wednesday, I noticed an apple core in the chair next to mine. I bring apples most weeks, and place the core at the base of a plant, since I know the core will compost. A squirrel knew it had found a treat, carried it to the table and sat in a chair like a person to dine! While I didn’t get to see the actual event, I enjoyed the mental image it brought forth.

On Tuesday mornings, we have a service of morning prayer in our prayer center. Many mornings I enjoy sipping my coffee prior to prayer while looking out the windows of the prayer center. A fence of brick lattice is visible outside the windows, and the windows also overlook the courtyard. I often see squirrels and birds, and when the season and weather cooperate, I get to see the sun hit the side of our sanctuary building. There is a particular spot on the brick fence that is often littered with acorn shells, evidence that a squirrel has had a meal there.

When I looked out the window yesterday, there was an apple core in that spot! I laughed out loud, thinking about how much my lunch leftovers are being appreciated by our church’s nearest neighbors. It was a reminder, a lesson for me about how all creation is connected, that every act we take affects others, whether we are aware of it or not. We know it if we remember our science lessons—the trees produce oxygen we need to breathe, and we produce carbon dioxide that the trees need to breathe. Yet we don’t always live like we know this, or else we would be more careful about our environment.

This is only one example of how our lives depends on the lives of everything and everyone else. We are dependent on one another far more than many of us realize. People you will never meet made your clothes, tended and harvested your food and assembled most of the products you use every day. When we act as if some people don’t matter, as if they are disposable, we harm ourselves, not only our way of life but also our souls.

All we do, for good, for ill, or simply unknowingly, has a ripple effect, just as we are affected by the actions, beliefs and choices of others. An apple-eating squirrel reminded me of that. May we all be more aware of our interconnectedness and live every day with care, remembering that our neighbors include all of creation.

Welcome

Luke 19:1-6

“. . . come down at once. I must stay in your home today.”

Possessions and demands once occupied my life—

stuff to do, stuff to tend. Schedule and home

clutter weighed me down, wearied me.

Simplicity of home and heart now allows for spontaneity.

Lightness of spirit makes for hospitable space. I have room

for laughter, love, tears and koinonia—room for what is

most precious.

Welcome friends.

Welcome love.

Welcome life.

Welcome Christ.

Awareness

Psalm 36:5-9

Today I will drink

from God’s river of pure joy.

My spirit shall dance!

Today I will bask

in God’s light until I see

that all bear God’s light.

Today I will live

within the Trinity dance

as all creatures do.

Emmanuel

Matthew 1:23

Holding the day lightly, here

at its commencement, clean page

not crammed full of plans,

I want to leave large room

for God to be with me.

Not as the persistent weed growing

in an impenetrable wall,

or the penny in a parking lot that I

acknowledge but do not take with me,

or the perfunctory blessing said before I

mindlessly eat my food.

Today I want to marvel at sky

with the wonder of my elderly friend

who praised it from the hospital window.

I want to breathe into a tight muscle,

fully aware of my body’s shape in that moment

on my yoga mat. I want to savor the silence

before the day shakes itself awake.

I want to see all who cross my path,

sensing the energy of communion

with the whole human family.

I want to be fully present to food and friends and flowers,

and the feel of wind on my skin, and to know,

in every breath, every blink, every beat of heart,

that God is with me.

Deliverance

Exodus 6:5-8

Lord, I have lived under burdens,

making bricks without straw, taking on

impossible tasks, struggling under demands

too great for me. I have forgotten

who I am,

who you created me to be, falling

instead into a shape ill-fitting my soul.

I have not lived as your chosen,

but have chosen instead to enslave myself

to an image not mine to live.

You saw my predicament.

You heard the cry of my soul, even before

I was aware that my soul was crying.

You delivered me with signs and wonders,

feeding my starved soul with love, with community,

with your presence and peace.

My soul is taking the shape of your chosen, the shape

you dreamed for it.

Who I am is seen and known and I am learning to listen

to my soul’s whispered truth.

Your faith in me is making me well.

I live to sing your praise with my life!

Song of Praise

Revelation 4:1-11

Holy, holy, holy!

Creator God, you are holy!

In the orange fire of sunset,

in the vivid pink of sunrise,

in the indescribable blue of spring sky,

your glory bursts forth.

Holy, holy, holy!

Christ Jesus, you are holy!

In you, we see God’s heart for us—

love we cannot fathom,

patience filled with grace,

forgiveness that bids us live with joy.

Holy, holy, holy!

Spirit, you are holy!

In the stillness of early morning,

in the silence of a chapel,

in laughter, tears and love of community,

your presence is palpable.

Holy, holy, holy!

Wrapped in Trinity’s holiness

may we too be holy,

lifted by love to deep devotion,

challenged by grace to grow in grace,

filled with joy irrepressible.

Holy, holy, holy!

Home

John 1:1-5, 14a

Home—not a building, but

relationship. You made your

home among us. Though you had

no place to lay your head,

you were at home with us.

Home, likewise, is for me relationship,

for when I had no place to rest

I found my home in you.

Public Park

On a day when hate hangs

like thick fog across the land,

when the tears in my soul

are those of the shaken,

it is good to be here—

to look people in the eye,

to smile and greet each other,

to love by simple presence all

who congregate here.